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The King Of The Winter Court
ELVA
I’m not even sure I am breathing as I stand in the doorway of this hidden bedroom, staring at my father. He’s clad in white silk pajamas and tucked under a heavy blue comforter. A dozen pillows are on the bed, and he’s lying in the middle of the large mattress.
My father is alive.
Or, at least, not dead.
A sound of deep agony escapes my throat before I dart across the cold stone floor to my father’s bedside. Somewhere beside me, I know my mother is talking, but I don’t have time for her right now. She’s had me for decades, and she squandered every one of them.
Her time is up. Completely ignoring my mother’s presence, I gently take his hand. It’s so cold.
A sob rips through me as I lean in. “Father?” I say, my voice sounding weak even to my ears. “Can you hear me?”
There’s no response, and for a long moment, I fear he is truly dead.
Silence fills the room, and I can sense Nathan walking up behind me, his heat warming my back as I lean over the only parent who ever loved me. A warm hand lands on my hip before he squeezes gently.
There are no words needed between us. He is here for me, and I need him more than ever.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes before leaning closer to my father again. His breaths are so shallow, but I can see slight movement in his chest.
“Father?” I repeat, squeezing his hand. “Please,” I sob as a tear runs down my cheek.
His hand is like ice in mine. Just as I’m about to give up and pull my hand away, the lightest touch brushes against the inside of my palm. My eyes dart up to his face, but there’s no movement.
But I know what I felt.
He’s in there.
Sobs wrench through my body as I shudder, drawing my father’s hand to my lips. “I love you,” I say over and over again. “I won’t leave you.”
In my peripheral vision, I can see two resistance members standing guard in the doorway, their hands on their guns as they watch my mother closely. She hasn't shifted yet, but we are all wary of her. The memories of public executions, of heads rolling in the streets, are at the forefront of everyone's minds. A guard, one of the Vampires, steps forward, but I shake my head.
"I'll do it," I say firmly. The guard reaches into his pockets and pulls out a pair of thick iron cuffs. They are wrapped in cloth, but I can feel the offensive metal from here. My every instinct screams at me to run, but I walk over and put out my hand. The cuffs are heavy, and even through the cloth, they sear into my skin. I bite my lips as I come over to my mother.
"It's over. Those guns are loaded with iron bullets. You won't make it off this chair if you fight or shift." I pull away the cloth and clamp the iron cuffs down on her arms. To her credit, she doesn't move, doesn't scream, but I see a bead of sweat running down her forehead.
If I had any room left in my heart for this woman, it would be breaking right now. I know the pain of this better than anyone.
From our planning, I know many more resistance members are spreading through the castle now.
None of that holds any significance to me right now.
Nothing matters except for the people within this very room.
Anger flashes through me as I shift, staring at my mother. Despite the iron cuffs, she hasn’t moved from her perch on the chair, her hands calmly holding onto her book. Part of me is giving into the coldness inside me as I turn towards her.
“You did this to him. To my father,” I seethe through clenched teeth.
She stares at me, her eyes cold and unmoving. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she watches me. She tilts her head, watching me. “For a ghost, Elva, you certainly have a lot of opinions. Do you care to explain how this is possible?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say, releasing my father’s hand and stepping back from the bed. I stand tall in the middle of the room, looming over her.
“No?” She repeats, quirking a brow.
“You don’t get to run this conversation,” I say as cords of ice wrap around her legs, binding her to the chair. “From here on out, you will answer my questions.”
